


Split Second

by Bebedora



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Critical injuries, Gen, Hurt!Jim, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 08:56:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bebedora/pseuds/Bebedora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All it takes is a split second for everything to go to Hell.  <br/>Kirk is critically injured on an away mission.  Hurt!Jim oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Split Second

Split Second

 

**_All it takes is a split second for everything to go to Hell._ **

****

                McCoy saw the glint of the blade a split second before it sliced into Kirk’s throat.

Everything stopped in that moment.  He couldn’t draw air into his lungs, couldn’t force his feet to move.  He clutched his hand tightly around the handle of the Med Kit, his knuckles turning white.  The air that, minutes ago had been fresh and perfumed with a wonderful hint of flowers, now felt stagnant and scented with the unmistakable odor of fresh blood.  One would think that being a doctor, he would be used to the metallic smell, and he was—to an extent. 

Just not when it was the blood of his best friend.

Jim’s eyes widened as his hands instinctively shot to his neck, crimson liquid beginning to gurgle from both his mouth and from underneath his already-stained fingers.  A horrific sputtering sound emanated from Jim’s—

_Was it his mouth, or the gash?_

He moaned as he choked, a name not quite making it from his blood-soaked lips.

“Bon…”  His blue eyes rolled back into his head and he fell.

McCoy was terrified that he would never see them open again.

Before Jim even hit the ground, the security ensign that accompanied them down to the surface had dropped the assailant with a phaser shot, only to be felled by a similar blast from the quick-drawing dying alien.  Bones looked at the poor kid to his side, a smoking hole in his pristine red shirt where his heart had been.  He wanted to feel bad—

_Jesus, the kid couldn’t have been older than twenty-one_

_\--_ but his concern laid elsewhere.

On the ground not ten feet in front of him.

Dying.

Just thirty minutes prior they had beamed down, not planning to encounter any alien life-forms, only to do reconnaissance.  Jim had talked him into coming, telling him it would do him good to get off the ship for a while.  Bones had given his usual show of refusal, naming a dozen reasons why he shouldn’t go.  But, dammit, Jim was nothing if not persistent.  McCoy eventually relented, though he threatened Jim with bodily harm should they run into any not-so-friendlies. 

Like always, Jim promised everything would be okay. 

And now, _like always_ …

…things went to shit.

_Come on, Bones!  Breathe in that fresh air!  See?  Even the Ensign’s getting into it!  Don’t be such a sourpuss._

Jim had been a good twenty feet in front of him, craning his neck up at the trees, inhaling the sweet air of tropical flowers that bloomed on the forest floor.  Birds high above screeched as they flew, almost drowning out the Captain’s voice as he chided his CMO.

Drowning out the footsteps of the approaching attacker.

They didn’t notice him until it was too late.

Until the blade split Kirk’s throat across the middle.

McCoy was snapped from his thoughts by the horrible gurgling sound in front of him.  Kirk lay on his side, desperately trying draw air into his lungs.  His hands were clasped at his neck, blood streaming out from underneath his fingers.  His skin was already deathly pale, as a good portion of his life essence had already spilled out onto the jungle floor.

Bones raced to his friend’s side, having to step over the dead Ensign to get there.  Working quickly, he tried to move Jim’s hands, only to have the wounded man clutch his neck even tighter.

“Bo…”  His eyes bulged as he tried to speak, the air that he very much needed to both survive and talk never making it to his lungs, instead seeping out of the gash in his throat, making the blood bubble underneath his palm. 

Even under the sheen of blood, McCoy could tell that Jim’s lips were turning blue.

“Let me look, dammit!”  McCoy managed to pry Jim’s hand from his throat.  In a stroke of blind luck, Kirk may have inadvertently bought himself more time.  By tightly clasping his neck, he had stifled the blood flow.  Finally able to wrench Jim’s hand away, blood instantly spurted up in a graceful arc and spattered across his blue medical tunic.  Bile rose in his throat.  McCoy knew that Kirk’s artery had been hit. 

Jim had minutes to live.

He immediately replaced his hand, holding steady pressure enough to hinder blood flow but not suffocate Jim.  Kirk’s warm blood oozed under his fingers, as McCoy fumbled in the Med Kit.  He knew he had to stabilize Jim fast.  The wounded Captain was not making things any easier as he writhed around on the ground, convulsing and clawing at the doctor’s hands.  He struggled to breathe, the terror evident by the way his eyes burned into Bones’ soul, silently pleading for him to help.  McCoy grabbed a hypospray that would hopefully calm Kirk down, only to have it squirt out of his blood-soaked hand.  It fell into the dirt, which immediately caked itself to the sticky liquid coating the sheer metal casing.

“Dammit, Jim!  Why do you always have to make things so difficult?”

 He cursed himself for blaming Kirk for something that clearly wasn’t his fault.  It was just habit.  McCoy reached for the filthy hypo, not bothering to clean the dirt from the device.  They had bigger problems than a few microbes living in the soil. 

Moving his hand slightly, he was able to find a suitable place to press the hypospray against Jim’s blood-slicked neck and prayed that he had been able to get the drugs administered in time.  The first injection was a relaxant to help Kirk to still, the second a medication that would cause his blood to thicken ever so slightly.  Not the most favorable scenario—purposely making his blood thicker—but probably the only one that would buy Jim some time. 

The gurgling coming from Kirk was getting worse.  Blood pooled inside his mouth, choking the Captain.  It flowed like a waterfall from both sides.  McCoy gently rolled Kirk over, the accumulated blood pouring out onto the forest floor.  He then eased him back and prepared to work.  The relaxant had helped somewhat, for he noticed that Jim’s hands—once gripping his own so tightly McCoy thought Kirk would break his fingers—fell slack and slipped down into limp fists at his chest.  Bones gently moved them away so he could have a clear work area. 

Kirk’s eyes glassed over but stayed focused intently on McCoy.  A single tear rolled down his cheek.  “Bo…s’posd...t’be…different.  Didn’t…mean fr’this to happ…”  The sloshing blood in his mouth, combined with the medications, made his words slur.

“Christ, Jim, stop talking!”  McCoy’s tone was sterner than he would have liked it to be, but he needed Kirk to be quiet.  The more he tried to talk, the more damage would be done to his body…the more blood would be forced out of the gaping hole in his neck.

Blood he couldn’t afford to lose.

Jim’s eyes fluttered as blood bubbled from his lips.  “S’rry…” 

McCoy rooted around in his tiny Med Kit, cursing himself for not bringing an Emergency Surgical Kit.  At least then he would have a bigger dermal regenerator and some better analgesics.  All he had to work with were the basic medications he always packed for Jim— _the damn fool_ —a laser scalpel, a small— _too small_ —dermal generator and a cardiostimulator.

_Jim I swear to God if you make me have to use this cardiostimulator, I’ll kill you._

He soothed his friend the best he could while he worked, running a few fingers through the sweat-drenched hair sticking to Kirk’s forehead.  “Jim.  I need you to listen to me.”  McCoy brought his face within inches of the Captain’s.  Terrified blue eyes met his own, although they were beginning to flutter shut.  McCoy lightly slapped Jim’s cheek to get his attention. 

Jim never responded.

His jaw fell slack, his mouth agape, allowing for the collected blood inside to cascade out and down the sides of his face.  Tiny air bubbles fought their way through the thick crimson liquid, bursting at the surface of the pool in the Captain’s mouth.  His chest stilled. 

McCoy flew into a frenzy.  Once again, he quickly rolled Kirk so the blood in his mouth could flow out freely.  He needed his airway to be clear.  Bones then straddled his friend, keeping his hand firmly in place on Kirk’s slashed throat.  This position gave him a better angle.  He pushed the heel of his other palm into Jim’s chest, directly above his heart and compressed rhythmically, twenty times. 

_Cardio-pulmonary resuscitation.  CPR._

It was an outdated technique that had fallen out of practice in the mid-twenty-second century when pulmonary support units had become the treatment of choice.    It was an archaic, almost barbaric method to keep blood circulating through a body, but dammit, he was out of options.  And yet here he was, watching as Jim’s body rocked back and forth under the force of his thrusts.  He couldn’t help but be angry at the man underneath him, cursing the moment he agreed to come down to this Godforsaken planet.   He would have never had to have resorted to such a medieval procedure back on the Enterprise, but here they were.

Alone and vulnerable.

A sickening feeling began to run through McCoy’s veins as he pumped on Kirk’s chest.  _What if there are more nasties coming?  What if they’re watching…waiting._

He didn’t have time to finish his thought as he ended his countdown and leaned in close to breathe into Jim’s blood-covered mouth.  Two breaths. Quick and forceful.  He had to spit the excess liquid that had seeped into his own mouth from Jim’s onto the dirt beside him. 

“ _Dammit, Jim_.  You just _had_ to come _down_ here _yourself_!”  McCoy shouted as he resumed his awkward one-handed compressions, the emphasis of certain words coinciding with his movements.  “Just _had to_ get _off_ the _ship_.  You _couldn’t_ have _sent_ a _science team_.  After all, that’s _only_ what they’re… _”_ He finished the last of his compressions.  “… _THERE FOR!!”_

Kirk never moved under his weight, his eyes still closed.  Once again, McCoy exhaled two breaths into his unresponsive Captain.  He couldn’t’ let himself falter now.  He had to stay strong for Jim.

So he could beat him within an inch of his life once they got back to Sickbay safely.

His eyes darted to the Med Kit, resting on the cardiostimulator.  He had prayed that he wouldn’t have to use it.  The damn things carried their own risks, like over charging a weakened heart muscle or not working at all.  After all, medicine wasn’t an exact science.

He looked down at Jim’s lifeless body beneath him, his chest unmoving and skin showing a gray pallor.  McCoy pursed his lips and swore as he reached for the stimulator.  He pressed the button on the side, beginning the charging cycle as he moved off of his friend.

“Goddammit, Jim.”

He laid the mechanism on Jim’s bloodied shirt and depressed the button on top, sending a jolt of electricity straight into Kirk’s heart.  The man’s body jerked on the forest floor, causing a gasping, wet breath to spring from his mouth.  Blood sprayed into the air, coming down as tiny droplets that coated both Jim and McCoy.

_Jim Kirk, you are one lucky son of a bitch._

McCoy removed the stimulator and thanked whatever deity that happened to be listening at the time that he wouldn’t have to utilize it again.  He felt wetness on his legs and knees, looking down to find that his pants were soaked with blood. 

He needed to get Kirk back to the ship.

Jim’s eyes were fluttering closed again and McCoy slapped him on the face.  “Now you listen to me, James Kirk.  You are not going to die on me today, you got that?”

McCoy swore he saw Jim smile.

“ ‘M harder t’get rid of…,” Jim gasped.  “ ‘th’n you think.”

_Cocky bastard.  Even at death’s door, he manages to get in an asshole comment like that._

Bones pressed his hand firmer on Jim’s throat, causing the Captain to grimace under the pressure. 

“H’rts…stop.” His breaths were strained, but at least McCoy’s hand sealed the hole in his throat, allowing him to breathe, albeit labored. 

“I know it hurts, Jim.  I’m gonna give you something for the pain, just hold on a second.”

Digging in the Med Kit, he retrieved a hypo loaded with one of the only pain relievers that Jim wasn’t allergic to and watched as his Captain’s face lost its grimace when the medications hissed into his bloodstream. 

He grabbed for and activated the small dermal regenerator.  It wasn’t nearly big or strong enough to mend the large gaping hole in Jim’s throat, but it would give him a fighting chance until they could beam back to the ship.  He needed to repair the artery quickly.  The hole in his windpipe could wait—at least a little longer.

He pressed the device to the oozing wound on the Captain’s neck over the bleeding artery, noting that the blood-thickening agent had begun to work.  Where the red liquid once had flowed like water, it now had the consistency of watery corn syrup.  Not ideal—he would have to reverse the effect as soon as they got back to the Enterprise—but it had helped to stabilize Kirk.  His other hand stayed poised over the slit in Jim’s trachea.  Bones could feel the vacuum-like pressure sucking at his palm every time Jim took a shaky breath.

He had been working so feverishly on attaching the regenerator that he barely felt the tickle of fingertips grabbing at his stained tunic.  He looked down to see Jim’s hands curl into a loose fist, pulling the fabric closer to him. 

“Bones…” 

“Jim, shhh.  You need to stop talking.  Save your strength.”

Kirk scowled.  “Need t’…thank…”

“Jim, I mean it.  Stop talking.  You can thank me when we get back the ship and I fix that goddamn hole in your trachea.”  He used his now free hand to scan Kirk with the Tricorder.  He was relieved that the dermal regenerator seemed to be doing its job on Jim’s severed artery. 

_You’re going to make it, you idiot._

Kirk’s seemed to relent.  His eyes relaxed and his hand slipped from McCoy’s shirt. 

Finally able to turn his attention away from Jim for a moment, McCoy reached for his communicator.  “McCoy to Enterprise.  The Captain’s been critically injured and Ensign Crain is dead.  I need a trauma team to meet us in the transporter room.”

Once again he felt Jim’s hand on his person, this time limply trying to clasp his own.  McCoy squeezed back with firm strength.  “You’re gonna be okay, Jim.  I’ll fix you up and you’ll be out there ready to give me another coronary within the week.” 

Jim snorted a small, gurgling laugh, exposing blood stained teeth and allowing the still-pooling liquid blood to trickle from the corners of his mouth.  He compressed McCoy’s bloodied hand as tight as he could. 

Bones knew he would be okay.  He had to be.

They would both be alright.

He pulled Jim up onto his lap as the all-too-familiar tingling that he hated so very much overtook his senses and they were pulled back aboard the Enterprise.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So, this is my first Reboot!Trek fan fiction. I have been part of the Final Fantasy VIII fandom for years, but have always been a Trekkie at my core. I figured it was high time I tried my hand at some Trek pieces. You may have noticed that I seem to like to hurt Kirk. (I also hurt my FFVIII characters, too. I see a pattern forming…) Yes…I’m a Hurt!Jim girl. So, expect more of it. *hehe* I have some others in the works, so I hope I can entertain! Thanks for reading! 
> 
> And thank you as always to my amazing beta QuietRaine. Are you sick of the blood and gore yet? ;) 
> 
> \--B.


End file.
